Waves are a close shave away with spray in our face,
we taste salt on our assault of each ride.
We free our minds from the outside in and then out again,
some abuse tubes and others hang ten,
then paddle out again.
It’s just surfers’ sticks that vary from long to short
and, of course, sponges for fairies.
So paddle a zappa or stand up on a SUP,
when the adrenaline hits ya it’s never enough bruh,
you gotta catch another and ride it in,
wearing nothing but a second skin.
We don’t crave grazes from a crazy-paving’s attack,
our worst fact is a lack of sex wax for traction,
not the extraction of grit from your road rash.
Give floating a bash bro,
no more broken toes from a tricked-out deck,
hit the water, get wet, learn to surf and earn respect.
Our half-pipes are formed from natures’ call,
yours are just sheets of board and 2 by 4,
you’re not a force to contend with,
you’ve been left a little demented,
you should have worn a helmet, pads and warm socks.
While I survive a fight with Viking Bay’s rocks,
you lot fall on your cock or balls and laugh.
Skaters avoid falling while surfers race sharks.